


Illegal Overtime

by Dusty_Forgotten



Series: Mike Schmidt is Done with Your Shit [4]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:30:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3180482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mike Schmidt is NOT OBSESSED STOP ASKING.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illegal Overtime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissV](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissV/gifts).



“I’m quitting! You hear me!? I QUIT!” You hop up and down. “I QUIT, I QUIT, I QUIT!”

There’s a knock on your door. “Mikey, are you alright?”

You sigh, and unlock your door. “I’m fine, mom.”

“I thought I heard yelling.” she squeaks, picking at her nails. She’s always been shy, and the memory loss has just made it even worse.

“It’s nothing, I just...” You swallow, and scratch the back of your head. “Work, y’know?”

She nods lightly. “I know it’s hard. Maybe one day you’ll go to college, and get a good job?”

You smile, and ruffle the short white, thinning hair. She’s a good foot shorter than you. “Sure.”

“Oh, I’m so happy, Mikey! What do you want for dinner?”

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you, I’m not gonna be home for dinner. Y’know... Work...”

It’s the fourth time you’ve told her today.

“Oh. Okay, Mikey. Have fun.”

“Yeah, I will.” You say through a gritted smile, and shut the door as she shuffles away. You sigh, and check your Batman watch. You’ve got a little under an hour before you like to leave.

You start your nightly (evening, at this point) routine by turning on Eye of the Tiger on your walkman. It’s used to be your Doom anthem, but you’ve recently developed a thing for Kenny Loggins’s Danger Zone, and you don’t know why. Whatever. Doom after work.

You start by going over your plan of attack (which started out as a post-it on the corkboard above your bed and now includes news clippings and print-out photos of the animatronics stick-tacked to the entire wall). It’s a Wednesday, so Foxy’s going to be your biggest problem so long as you keep an ear out for Freddy laughing every time he enters a new room like a conceited prick. You need to make sure not to check on Foxy too often, though, you figured about three weeks back, and you haven’t been proven wrong yet. you tap the scribbled note of “Hall lights are your FRIENDS” and study the children’s drawings for subliminal messages. Yes, you brought them home. No, you’re not obsessed.

After that you pull off your T-shirt, getting tangled in the cord for your headphones, and apply a liberal dose of spray-on antiperspirant- because you’re still _pretty sure_ they can smell fear. You change into a button-up and clip on the nametag, but leave the jeans with the hole in the crotch. No one will notice.

You then stare at the poster of Freddy taped to the back of your door, repeating to yourself, “I’m ready for Freddy. I’m _ready_ for Freddy.” When you’re done, you check the bathroom mirror (flicking the lights while you do, it’s _not a problem_ ), and _damn_ you look ready to kick some animatronic ass. The bags under your eyes only make you look more done, which is exactly what you’re going for. You grab your keys, and your cap, and you’re ready to go.

Twenty minutes early. You sit on the edge of your bed for a while flicking through your songs until you give up, and end up playing darts with Freddy’s face, which you’re getting pretty good at. You waste about twelve minutes, and go to put on a pot of coffee.

“Oh, are you going to work?”

“Yes, mom,” you reply, “they’ve got me on the nightshift now.”

“Oh, okay. Just cooking for myself, then...”

“We can have lunch tomorrow.” You supply as you measure out the grounds. “I should be awake by two.”

“No, no, I’m having lunch with Dorothy tomorrow.”

“Right, I forgot.” you say, put the coffee on, and check the calendar. She’s not having lunch with Dorothy. You write down “Lunch with Mikey” grab two slices of leftover pizza from the fridge, and sneak it to your room so she doesn’t insist on making soup “real quick” or something. Pizza’s most of what you eat anymore. After getting used to the pizza at Freddy’s, you can eat anything.

You threaten your Freddy poster once more, pour your coffee in a to-go cup, and say goodbye to your mother before exiting through the garage to grab your bike. You walk back in less than a minute later. “Forgot to pee.” you say, because of all the things this job has desensitized you to, the smell of the Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria bathrooms is not one.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at two am, and completely forgot it's set in the nineties. This morning I went through and changed Ipod to walkman, Gamefire to Eye of the Tiger, and Halo to Doom (which came out a few months after FNaF is set, but it's close enough I doubt you'd noticed if I hadn't told you).


End file.
